


I've Been Living for the Weekend

by fadedhues



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive!Laura, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, F/M, M/M, Oral Sex, Student!Stiles, TA!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:29:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedhues/pseuds/fadedhues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been pining (he will deny it, but "pining" is definitely the right word to use) after his TA, Derek Hale, ever since the start of the school year... but whatever, it's not like he's the only one. When Lydia drags him to her spin class, he finds Derek fucking Hale teaching, and wow, sweaty Derek, this will definitely last him through many lonely nights.</p>
<p>OR, the College/Spin Class AU in which Derek teaches lots of things, Lydia sasses her way through school, Scott is AWOL a lot, and Laura is only slightly short of mashing Stiles and Derek's faces together and ordering them to kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Been Living for the Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> WELL. I take spin classes, and the Monday night instructor is Steven, who is hotter than hell and wow like wow. Wow. I did the math, and he's either 21 or 22, and I'm 17; one night I was taking spin and lusting after this beautiful boy and I thought, "Ha! What if my life was a Sterek fic? I'd have Steven in my bed like THAT."
> 
> And then this happened.
> 
> Many thanks to Mel, my beta, and to [Kate](http://kavinskysdick.tumblr.com/), who drew amazing art that you will find throughout this fic which you should appreciate like right now APPRECIATE IT YOU GUYS.
> 
> Comments are pretty awesome, yo
> 
> **Oops, I forgot to say--the last section of this (marked by "--------") is pretty much an epilogue. When the fic starts, Stiles is 18, and when it ends, he's 20. I've always imagined he has a birthday in the spring, so he'd turn 19 right before the epilogue, and then I just wrote a year later in for kicks and domestic love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Headed for the open door,” Stiles sings in his dorm, doing weird flapping movements with his arms, “tell me what you’re waiting for!”

There’s a figure at his elbow, but he takes no heed, because, “Oh hot reservoir, this is my jelly, Lydia!” he tells her as he bops his head in time to the music.

“Stiles,” she’s mouthing, and he shakes his head, shiny pink lips be damned.

“Lookin’ ‘cross the great divi—OW.” He pulls his headphones off when she smacks his arm, overly exaggerated pout playing on his lips. “Alright, you’ve successfully interrupted my personal time. May I help you?”

The girl rolls her startlingly bright green eyes and sighs. “Do you want to come to spin class with me tomorrow night?”

“Um, let me think about that.” Stiles screws his face up and scratches his head in mock concentration. “Let’s try… no.” He points a finger at Lydia, and she snarls and grabs for it; he pulls his hand back and titters. “Come on, indoor cycling? That’s so lame, Lyds!”

Lydia rolls her eyes at him again (but who doesn’t?). “Come on, it’s fun, and it’s a great workout, and… and the instructor is really, really gorgeous.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. “Are you trying to set me up?”

“Oh, hell no. I’m trying to set _me_ up.”

“In that case… still, no.”

“Come on, Stiles. What other plans did you have for tomorrow night? Singing by yourself in your dorm because your roommate is out with his girlfriend for the tenth night in a row?”

“Hey, now,” Stiles grumbles, “bullying isn’t the way to get me to do _anything_.”

By the smirk Lydia wears as she leaves and the, “Bring lots of water tomorrow!” she throws at him over her shoulder, it is.

\--

And so it is that Stiles wakes up in the morning with a groan and a sneeze, heading into the bathroom when—“Shit, I have that spin class thing,” he moans loudly.

Scott calls, “What?” from underneath his pillow.

“Nothing, man.”

Of course, he first has to make it through his freshman Lit Comp class—and really, the teacher’s great, but the class makes him want to _sleep_ sometimes. _Grendel_ was okay, for example, but there was just something Stiles didn’t like about it, something he couldn’t put his finger on.

One thing that certainly keeps him awake is the TA, Derek Hale, who is looming and gorgeous and dangerous-looking (and dangerously intelligent, too).

There’s something about him, so utterly… intriguing and Kafkaesque (Stiles likes to use that word as much as he can—it’s on his vocab sheet for the test next Monday, anyways, so he has to learn it and it helps to have something to mentally apply it to. “Kafkaesque (adj.): marked by a senseless, disorienting, and often menacing complexity,” and if that word doesn’t settle over Derek Hale’s shoulders like those incredible button down shirts, then Stiles doesn’t know what does).

(A leather jacket might.)

“When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from unsettling dreams,” Derek reads aloud, voice grumbling more than usual—evidently, he hasn’t had the best day; his clothes are a little wrinkled and his hair isn’t sticking up with its usual splendor, “he found himself changed in his bed into a monstruous vermin.” He looks up and rubs a hand along his jawline, and phew, Stiles has to shift in his seat for a second in order to get a grip on his—hormones.

_You are eighteen_ , Stiles tells himself. _You are eighteen, pull it together_.

“What does this first sentence tell us?” The class, as a whole, is unresponsive, and he sighs and sets the book down on Professor Daniel’s desk (Daniel’s pretty awesome, but he’s had some kind of flu the past few weeks. But hey, that means more Derek for Stiles to stare at). “Come on. What do you think about the sentence?”

“It’s weird,” Stiles blurts, and people sitting in front of him whip their heads around. “It’s such a detached and—and _muted_ tone, like, ‘Gregor just looked down and saw that he was a bug, whatever,’ instead of, ‘Gregor awoke one day and found, to his utter _shock_ , or _abhorrence_ , that he had been transformed into a bug.’”

Lydia, twirling her pen idly in the seat next to him, whispers, “Pulling out all the big words for the TA. My, my, Stiles, am I ever so impressed.”

“Can it,” Stiles says, and boy, isn’t he one to talk?

Mr. Hale (Stiles calls him “Derek” in his head, but _Derek_ would probably rip his head off if he let it slip) nods. “Yes, muted, that’s good. It’s a very odd tone, and it sets the pace for the rest of the novel. Someone else?”

Stiles slumps in his seat and doodles various shapes (Derek’s ass keeps popping up, but Stiles is a god-awful artist with a sublime muse, it must be said) for the rest of the class period while only tuning back in when Derek talks, because his words are the only ones that will help him pass the next test.

 

 

 

 

 

 

\--

It’s four thirty when Lydia knocks on the door, and Stiles knows it’s her; the sound of knuckles sharply rapping on the door once, twice, three times, followed by a feminine sigh is unmistakable. “I am regretting this deeply,” Stiles calls from his bed, and Lydia has already swung the door open and is gliding in. “Hey! What if I had been changing?”

“Damn, if only,” Lydia deadpans, and Stiles’ only response is the very mature and not at all childlike face he pulls. She shifts on her feet and runs her ponytail through a fist, blue tank top stretching up as she does so, and man, Stiles is so glad he isn’t hopelessly in love with this pixie-like terror before him (anymore—but let’s not talk about that), because she would crush his still-beating heart in those pale hands.

But that was before he realized that his numbers on the Kinsey scale were a little different than what he had thought (and they’re better off as friends, anyways, because Lydia scares the shit out of him some days).

“Get up, asshole,” she finally snaps, tossing a water bottle at him. Stiles very quickly discovers that it is cold and wet with condensation, and yelps and he scrambles up. “Uncalled for,” he mutters.

“Not at all,” Lydia says in a sing-song voice. She looks him up and down—his old Beacon Hills High shirt, gym shorts, and running shoes—and nods her head in approval. “Let’s go.” She swivels on the heel of her black and white Nikes and marches off, barking, “Stiles!” when he doesn’t follow.

\--

The bikes are yellow and a lot cooler-looking than Stiles had anticipated. “Huh,” he says, making his way over to one in the back, but Lydia grabs him by the sleeve and yanks him forward, saying, “Come on, Stiles.” He finds himself next to a bike in the front row.

“Seriously, Lydia?”

She shrugs at him. “They prefer it when the newbies sit up front. It’s easier to tell when they’re about to pass out.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” Stiles stares at her.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” Lydia laughs at the expression on his face before hopping off her bike (woah, Stiles hadn’t even noticed her set it up) and setting his bike for him. “Stand next to the seat,” she commands, and he does so. She moves the handle on the back to the left and then yanks the seat up to his hip level, then tightens it. “Alright, get on.”

Stiles hops on the bike and looks down. There’s a black, circular knob that reads, “TENSION,” a water bottle holder, and a small square device on his handlebars. He puts his feet in the pedals and watches Lydia shift his handlebars up and back to give him more room. He hits the start button at Lydia’s command and watches the screen light up.

“The time doesn’t start until you hit the start button again, but wait until the instructor gets in,” she tells him, and who is he to argue with her?

He’s fitting his bottle into the water bottle holder when music starts blaring and a voice booms, “Alright! I hope you guys are ready to work, because I know I am!”

Stiles jerks his head up and sees Derek freaking Hale crouching beside the stereo, because _this_ is his life. “Lydia, what the fuck?” he hisses to the redhead on the bike next to him.

She points to her ear and yells, “Can’t hear you!” and boy, is she getting an earful when they get done.

Derek turns around and looks up at Stiles. He smiles, and it looks—relaxed, open, like this is his element, weights and music and sneakers (though Stiles supposes it is; Derek didn’t get a body like that by staying at home all day. And wow, that tee shirt he’s wearing is stretch taut across his shoulders, and Stiles is about to see Derek’s face up close and personal for the next _hour_ , wow), and Stiles grins in return.

“So, Stiles. It’s um, it’s nice to see you outside of class,” Derek says kind of awkwardly, and Stiles really wants to jump him.

Alright, so maybe this working out thing isn’t a bad thing. He needs to get rid of all this... tension.

“You’ve never taken spin before, right?” Derek continues, and Stiles nods. “Alright, in about two minutes, you’re going to press the start button twice. Throughout the class, we’ll do different exercises—sprints, climbs, whatever else—and I’ll tell you to increase or decrease the tension.” He places a large hand on the handlebars of Stiles’ bike and leans in, and Stiles kind of freezes because Derek smells way too good and is way too hot to be this close to him without invoking some type of bodily reaction involving Stiles’ dick, honestly.

Derek taps the black knob and says, “Turn it to the right, and the tension increases. Left, and it decreases. Just follow my instructions and don’t push too hard, and you’ll be okay.” He claps Stiles on the shoulder and Stiles hears a giggle to his left from Lydia, but he doesn’t care because a) Lydia laughs at him all the time, and b) _Derek fucking Hale_ just touched him.

Stiles jumps a little when Derek claps his hands loudly and yells, “Alright, press the start button twice!” He steals a few glances around the class and finds that it’s filled with people his own age or a little older. He turns his attention back to Derek, who is calling, “Here we go, just a nice warm up for this first song; make sure all the tension is off and just spin those legs!” And this is weird, because Derek is smiling and yelling in a good way and not sighing and speaking gruffly and talking about the themes of _Grendel_.

Stiles pretty much spends the first three minutes mouthing along to the shitty pop song that’s playing (he can’t help but wonder if Derek made the playlist) and “spinning his legs,” as Derek called it (which is pretty much just pedaling), and then suddenly things get really hard, really fast.

“Seated sprints!” Derek barks when the song changes, and reaches down to the tension knob on his bike. “Increase, increase, increase, and… increase one more time! Wait for the chorus!” When the chorus of the song comes on, he shouts, “Go!” and Stiles is trying keep up the pace with the others, but it feels like he’s trying to run through water.

It’s incredibly hard and not at all stupid. He owes Lydia an apology.

Twenty minutes later, Derek is sweating through his light blue shirt and wipes the sweat off of his face, and it’s incredibly hot. It’s the only conscious thought Stiles has at the moment.

He would appreciate the sight any other day, but he’s about to pass out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Derek calls out, “Ten more seconds!” to everyone, because they’re _supposed_ to be holding a hover and sprinting, but Stiles is… not. He’s hovering and pedaling, and that’s all Derek’s going to get. At least it’s only ten more seconds.

_Of this song_ , that is.

He doesn’t know how he does it, but twenty ( _more, Lord have mercy on his soul_ ) minutes later (in which Stiles had struggled to keep up with the various exercises Derek had led them through), Derek is saying, “Great job, guys! Cool down time. Look at the top left-hand corner of the screen. That number is your RPM. Get it between seventy-five and eighty.”

Stiles is breathing harshly (probably gasping, but he’d like to think he has _some_ of his dignity left), sweat droplets dotting the mat below him, and his face is most likely a disgusting crimson color. He’s not even trying to do anything with his RPM, whatever that is; he’s just trying to drink the water out of his bottle without spilling it down the front of his shirt like a toddler, which is easier said than done when your whole body is having a fit.  

“Between sixty-five and seventy,” Derek commands in a soothing voice, soft music playing in the background now, and Stiles leans forward on the handlebars and lets his arms shake. He looks over and Lydia is shooting a pitying glance at him.

He can’t find the energy to care.

“Get off the bike carefully,” Derek instructs, and he leads the class into a bunch of stretches that Stiles only half-heartedly attempts. When they’re done, Derek claps his hands and hollers, “Good class, you guys! See you next time!” He hands out washcloths and spray bottles for people to clean the bikes off, and stops when he gets to Stiles and asks, “You feel okay?”

Stiles manages a feeble nod.

Derek’s lips twitch, like he’s trying to hold back a smile (Lydia, who is standing behind him, obviously doesn’t care—she’s grinning widely at Stiles), and he softly tells Stiles, “Hey, you did a good job! Better than most people’s first times.”

And god _, first times_ , Stiles does not need to be led down this road. “Ha, I’m glad I didn’t totally embarrass myself.”

“Oh, you did,” Lydia interrupts, and Stiles glares at her.

Derek laughs and Stiles is kind of shocked for a second before snapping out of whatever spell he’s in, because Derek and Mr. Hale are obviously two totally different people.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in class on Thursday.” Derek starts cleaning up and Lydia grabs Stiles by the arm and pulls him out of the room.

“Ew, Stiles! Jesus, you’re so sweaty!” Lydia almost shrieks, and he retaliates by wrapping his arms around her and nuzzling against her.

The busted eardrum is worth it, as is the slap to the back of the head.

\--

Wednesday is hell, and Stiles can only manage to drag his poor body to and from the two classes he has that day. He sleeps the rest of the day away. The only interesting part of the day is when Lydia drops by to check on him, and he groggily asks, “I thought spin class was to set you up, not me.”

“You were too busy almost _dying_ to notice the hot guy in the back corner,” she replies matter-of-factly. “The inevitable frisson that will spark between you and Derek is only a bonus.”

“Who the fuck says ‘frisson’ these days?” Stiles moans, and Lydia rolls her eyes and stalks out of his room.

When Thursday rolls around, Stiles’ body hurts only marginally less. He limps to class and lets out probably extremely pornographic noises as he lowers his sore body into a chair. He’s one of the first people there, besides Derek and some girl (Erica, he thinks her name is) who sits in the back corner.

“Hey, Stiles!” Derek greets him, and he sounds so _cheerful_. Stiles is still thrown off by it. “How do you feel?”

“Well, you know.” He shrugs. “My ass is sore, but it’s not like I didn’t see that coming.”

It’s as he watches Derek’s face change (and hears Erica’s snort) that he realizes just how wrong that sentence sounded.

“Oh, crap!” He thrusts his hands forward, palms open, in the universal _oops-hold-on_ sign. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know, the seats aren’t very comfortable and all.”

Derek makes a choked noise, like he’s trying not to laugh, and nods. “Right, right. Gotcha.”

The rest of the class, of course, decides to start filling in, and Stiles loses any chance he has to redeem himself for the time being.

Looks like he’s going to have to go to the Saturday morning class.

You know, to redeem himself. The sweaty, muscular eye candy he gets to stare at the whole time is _not_ even a factor, nope. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

\--

Stiles has no classes on Friday, thank God, so he does his homework and plays video games all day, because his body still hurts like hell, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t go to spin class tomorrow.

So yeah, he needs to save his energy.

His ever-AWOL roommate/best friend, Scott, is out with his girlfriend yet again (surprise, surprise), so Stiles is extremely excited when Lydia shows up to hang out with him (up until she kicks his ass in Modern Warfare. He has no choice but to squawk, “Get out of my dorm room!” indignantly. She, of course, laughs in his face and kicks his ass in another round).

Lydia leaves around nine o’clock. “Bye, Stiles!” She beams at him, and he grins back from his spot on the couch. “By the way, I’m not going to spin class tomorrow, bye!” The words quickly tumble from her mouth and the door is shut long before he can process what she’s said.

The next day, Stiles jerks awake to his alarm clock wailing. He smacks the snooze button before remembering that he can’t snooze his way to noon today, because he has to go to spin class. He sighs, opens his eyes, blinks a few times, then gets up and stumbles to the bathroom. He gets ready pretty quickly and eats some cereal, a banana, and a granola bar, because he’d really rather not pass out today.

He gets to the gym right on time and manages to find the same bike he had used last class, right in the front, seat still set to his height.

Derek comes into the room and claps his hands, and says, “Let’s get started!”

Stiles clambers onto the bike, but not before noticing that the blonde guy in the corner that Lydia had talked about isn’t there, either.

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, because ten _bucks says Lydia’s out on a date with him_.

Stiles is definitely more prepared for this class. He brought two water bottles and his own washcloth, and actually paces himself today.

The class is still hard at hell, but he’s not as close to passing out this time. He passes the agonizing hour by staring at Derek’s face and imagining those lips around his dick, and it’s a testament to how tired he is that he doesn’t pop a boner halfway through the class.

When the class is over, Derek hands him the spray bottle to wipe the bike down. “You did a good job today.” He smiles at him, and Stiles beams back.

“Thanks!” He wipes the bike down and puts the bottle next to the bike when he’s done. “See ya, Derek!”

“Bye, Stiles.” Derek waves and turns his attention back to his bike.

Stiles steps out of the room and wipes his face with the washcloth. He takes a deep breath… and steps on someone’s foot.

He jumps back in surprise and whips the towel away from his face, and the young woman whose foot he practically stomped on swears.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” he exclaims, grabbing her elbow to steady her. “Are you okay?”

“Shit, yeah.” She laughs and steps on it tentatively. “Yep, all good.” Her nametag reads “Laura,” and she’s got long, brown hair, and shiny teeth and she’s gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. She looks at the room he came out of and laughs. “Oh, you took Derek’s class? Do you like it?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles feels a flash of jealousy, and _woah, slow your roll, dude. Guys can have gorgeous friends that are girls and not_ girlfriends.

But—but Derek’s probably as straight as a ruler, so Stiles should probably get used to the idea of Derek being utterly unattainable (because before, he had just been ignoring whatever _this_ is, but now it’s kind of in his head and if he could just get his body to _stop wanting him to bone Derek Hale_ , there would be no problems) and having gorgeous girlfriends.

“Um, yeah,” he says with a smile, because his mother taught him to be polite to people.

“How long have you been doing spin for?”

Stiles shrugs. “This is actually my second class.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad you’re still sticking with it!” She flashes a smile at him before looking down at her watch. “Oh, damn, my class starts in two minutes.”

“Class?”

“I teach swimming classes here. The pool’s nice here; try it sometime. See you around, Stiles!” She pats him on the arm and walks down the hallway, leaving Stiles staring at her retreating form, because _is everyone who works here gorgeous and charming?_

\--

When Stiles walks into the dorm room at six o’clock, he is pleasantly surprised to find Scott there, playing a video game. “Hey, man!” he greets, and plops down next to his frequently-absent best friend.

Scott pauses the game and grins at Stiles. “Hey.”

“Why are you here?” he asks bluntly, grinning to ease the jab.

Scott is like a puppy, though—he’ll love you through anything, so Scott, true to his form, smiles at Stiles and shrugs. “Allison wanted to spend time with her other friends today.”

“Allison hangs out with people other than you?” Stiles gasps, and Scott laughs.

“Shut up, dude. Hey, I know I’m not around a lot—”

“Your bed has collected dust,” Stiles loudly informs him.

“—but I’m going to try to be a better friend, okay, man?” Scott laughs again at the face Stiles pulls.

Stiles settles back into the couch and picks up another controller.

“By the way, we’re out of milk,” Scott says casually, and Stiles throws the controller down (carefully; those things are precious).

“Fuck you, man,” he says, getting up, because Scott _had_ done the last grocery run, and hears him laughing as he slams the door shut. He goes to the little store a block down across from the Mexican restaurant, where the slim boy with curly hair always flirts with Scott (who unwittingly flirts back).

 “Non-fat, non-fat,” he mutters, scanning the milk cartons, because Scott doesn’t like milk and can only have non-fat because he is a little _baby_.

“Stiles!” he hears, and looks up to see Laura walking towards him, Derek in tow.

Well, damn. Stiles was right about the two of them.

_Why am I always fucking right about the things I don’t want to be right about?_ he wonders, but grins at the two regardless. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey!” Laura grins at him. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Yeah. Just, you know, ran out of milk.” Stiles holds up the jug of milk and gives it a little shake.

The two smile at him; Stiles looks at Derek’s lips longer than he probably should. Derek’s hands are shoved into the front pockets of his dark-wash jeans, and he’s wearing a leather jacket.

Stiles has to make a conscious effort not to drool.

He’s staring at Derek’s jawline (phew) when Laura asks, “Hey, Stiles, would you like to come to dinner with us?”

Stiles stares at her, because why would he want to crash their date? “Oh, no, I don’t want to impose on your night,” he blurts.

She laughs and waves a hand dismissively. “It’s not a big deal, Derek and I see each other all the time. It’s nice to have company. No one wants to spend all their time with their brother.” She elbows Derek in the sternum, and he glares and rubs his chest. “Right, Der?”

“Uh, yeah,” he finally says, looking at Stiles, the floor, his watch, then back to Stiles. “We’re going to Happy China on thirty-first.”

Stiles nods; his brain is kind of freaking out on him right now.

_Derek is single!_

_Derek and Laura aren’t dating!_

_Derek and Laura are brother and sister!_

_Derek is single and looking fine as hell and now Stiles doesn’t have to feel guilty about thinking of Derek sucking him off, which has recently become a regular picture in his head._

It’s quite possibly the weirdest epiphany Stiles has ever had, holding milk in the refrigerated section and staring at the man of his imaginary sexual encounters and said man’s sister, who _isn’t his girlfriend_.

“Uh, well, I’ll just buy this milk and then meet you guys there, I guess?” Stiles asks, holding the milk up.

Laura smiles broadly. “Sure thing! I need to buy some stuff, too. Let’s say, Happy China in…” She grabs Derek’s wrist and checks his watch, and it’s so ridiculous, Derek rolling his eyes while his sister peers at his wrist, that Stiles almost laughs. “Twenty minutes?”

“Yeah, sure.” He nods and waves awkwardly.

When he gets back home five minutes later, Scott is still there (Stiles is actually surprised yet again). “Wanna grab dinner?” he asks, pausing the game.

Stiles stops short and frowns. “I… sorry, man, I kind of have plans.”

Scott shrugs. “Hey, I understand. I bail on you all the time. Seriously, I’m gonna be a better friend, promise,” and Stiles frowns—why is Scott like this all of the sudden?

He voices this to Scott as he puts the milk in the fridge, and Scott ducks his head. “Well, Lydia kind of drew it to my attention…” he mutters, and now it all makes sense.

“Hey, look,” Stiles plops down next to him. “Lydia can be a bit harsh, so whatever she said is probably true to an extent. You’re not an awful friend, okay? You’re still my best friend. Just kind of…” Stiles waves his hands around. “Not here as of late, but I get it.” Scott smiles at him, eyes bright, and Stiles stands up. “Enough with feelings. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“You haven’t been cheating on me, have you, man?” Scott jokes.

“Never on you, babe,” Stiles calls on his way out.

Happy China is actually really good and pretty close to where he lives, so he just walks and makes it there in about ten minutes—right on time, he realizes as he checks his phone.

“Stiles!” he hears, and sees Laura and Derek in a booth, sitting next to each other. They both already have food on their plates, and Stiles thinks Derek’s face flushes when he sees Stiles look at their plates.

“I wanted to wait for you, but Laura said, ‘Hey, it’s a buffet,’ and got some food anyway, because she’s an impatient fat ass.” Derek glares at Laura.

“My ass is glorious, and I won’t hear a word saying otherwise,” she crows, teriyaki chicken halfway to her mouth.

“I don’t want to pursue this topic of conversation,” Derek mutters.

Stiles smiles at them. “I’ll just go get some food.” He browses the buffet and returns to the table, plate stacked with food, a few minutes later. Laura is on the phone and Derek rolls his eyes and points to the bathroom behind him.

Stiles watches him get up before starting to eat, and man, _this food is good_. He and Scott used to come here a lot, but there hasn’t been much hanging out between the two as of late.

Not that Stiles is bitter; he knows that Scott is one of those guys who loves people (more specifically, significant others) with everything he has. Scott is still his best friend, through and through.

“Hey,” Laura says, jerking him out of his thoughts. “My boyfriend just called me and he’s getting off work early today, and he works all the time and I haven’t seen him in a while, so… do you mind if I ditch?”

“Uh.”

Laura takes a sip of her water before setting it down and gathering her purse up. “Seriously, you and Derek will be fine, and I miss Boyd like crazy, but I don’t want to feel bad if I leave you here.”

Stiles grins at her. “It’s fine! Go, be in love and whatever.”

She rolls her eyes, smiling, and flicks her long hair back. “Thanks, Stiles! We’ll hang out again, promise! Get Derek to give you my number, okay?”

Before Stiles can say, “Bye,” she’s striding away from the table and out the door.

This is… weird. Whatever, he’s always been good at dealing with the unexpected. He shrugs and digs back into his food.

“Where’d Laura go?” Derek is suddenly at his side, and he jumps. Derek slides into his seat and picks up his glass of water.

Stiles swallows. “Her boyfriend got off work early or something.”

Derek sighs. “Yeah, Boyd has a really irregular schedule, so anytime he’s off work, they’re together.”

“It’s serious, then?”

“I’d say. They’ve been dating for about two years now. I think it’s the longest relationship she’s had.”

“And what about you?” Stiles blurts.

“What about me?”

“Seeing anyone?” He’s trying to sound casual, but it’s probably not working.

Derek’s lips tighten for a second. “I, um.” He wipes his hands on his pants and shifts back, sitting up straight. “I dated this girl a few years ago. Woman, I should say. I was just a boy, a dumb kid. We didn’t date for too long, but she,” he huffs out a laugh, one hand tapping the side of his glass of water, “she tore my heart to pieces.”

Stiles freezes, a piece of lo mien hanging from his lips. “Uh.”

“Then there was this guy I dated last year,” Derek continues. “That was kind of serious. We both called it quits after a while, though.”

If Stiles’ brain had been functioning, he would have asked, “Why?”

Instead, he’s still frozen, because _Derek is bisexual._ Derek Hale is bisexual, and his little two-inch window of opportunity just widened a little.

“Sorry,” he finally says.

Derek shrugs, leaning forward. “No big deal. So, what do you plan on majoring in?” he asks, effectively changing topics, and Stiles is relieved as the awkward air filters out.

The rest of the dinner goes pretty smoothly, and Stiles leaves with a big grin on his face.

\--

Stiles and Laura become friends really fast, and he’s actually surprised. Their unexpected friendship started when he found himself with more time on his hands; Scott was around more often, but not as often as he had been pre-Allison, and then Lydia started regularly dating that guy from spin class, Jackson (who is a big douchebag, but Lydia will kick his ass if he hurts her at all, so Stiles isn’t worried). So Stiles texted Laura after getting her number from Derek, and she invited him over to watch movies with her and Derek, who share an apartment. He went over and watched all of the Harry Potter movies on their huge TV; ever since then, Stiles has been hanging out with the two of them frequently, and it’s… nice, it’s really nice.

The only downside to everything is that now that Stiles knows Derek, _really_ knows him, he’s transitioned from having a crush on him to being hopelessly in love with him.

Whatever. He’s always had a thing for falling for people out of his league.

A few months later, he’s lounging on Laura and Derek’s couch (he’s been on it so much that he now officially has a permanent ass print on it) when Laura pops her head out of the kitchen. “Let’s go to dinner!”

“I thought you were making dinner?” He sits up, confused.

She walks out, wiping her hands on a rag. “I changed my mind. Let’s go to a fancy restaurant! It’ll be fun!”

“Um,” he says, but she’s pushing him out of the door and ordering, “Go home and change! I’ll text you the name of the place!” She shuts the door in his face and he stares at the door in confusion.

“Oh… kay,” he murmurs, before turning and walking to his place.

_Alejandro’s, 7_ , Laura texts him a few minutes later, which gives him forty minutes to get ready.

_How fancy we talking?_ he texts back.

_Button down and black pants?_

_Doable._

_Better be._

He chuckles and starts getting dressed. Laura texts him the address, and it’s not too far away, but he’d rather take a taxi than walk.

When he gets there at seven, he isn’t surprised to see Derek, but he is surprised by the lack of _Laura_.

“Where’s Laura?” Stiles asks.

Derek shrugs. “I dunno, she left way before I did; said she had to go do something and she’d meet us here.”

Three minutes past seven, both of their phones ping with a text message. _Sorry, I can’t make it, I’m busy!_

Stiles looks up from his phone. “Well, I guess that’s settled,” he comments drily, and Derek laughs. “Let’s go to Five Guys,” he announces decisively.

“Oh, thank god!” Derek runs a hand through his hair. “I hate this place. Too expensive.”

They walk the block down to Five Guys, and Stiles is too hungry to care how out of place they look when they walk in. He orders a burger and some fries, and Derek orders the same, and dinner passes by like it usually does, the two laughing and joking and talking.

They leave around eight thirty, and he doesn’t know why, but the moment that the two step out of the loud restaurant and into the quiet, cold night air, something changes between the two. They quiet down and stand there, staring at each other. Derek is handsome, all dark hair and bright eyes and form-fitting clothes, and god, Stiles wants to kiss him, wants their bodies pressed against each other hard, fingers on hips.

Stiles licks his lips. “Walk me home.” Derek nods, and the two walk to the dorm, occasionally bumping arms, and every time they do, Stiles feels electrified. He sneaks glances at Derek, wondering if he feels the same, but Derek’s face is passive.

After was feels like hours of walking in silence, they get to his place, and Derek says, “Bye, Stiles,” and turns to go.

“Wait!”

Derek stops and turns around.

“Do you… do you want to come in?” Stiles swallows; he could be doing something really, incredibly stupid—they’re _friends_ now; what if Derek doesn’t want this, what if everything gets fucked up?

It was different when Derek Hale was just—just a figure standing at the front of the classroom, drily commenting on Kafka’s sexual tones in the novel or watching Professor Daniel lecture, sitting there in his button down and tight pants that Stiles could imagine _ruining_ , popping the buttons off the shirt, pushing the pants down and getting fucked on the desk, right then and there.

But it’s different now, now Derek Hale is Derek—smart, handsome, _witty_ Derek, who has a sister and no parents and had his heart broken into pieces once and smiles widely, and Stiles feels like his smiles are the gates to his fucking _soul_ , and yeah, Stiles could be ruining _everything_ right now.

Derek stares at him, silent, and Stiles’ stomach drops.

“Sure.” Derek licks his lower lip, and Stiles unlocks the door and swings it open.

“Scott?” he calls out, but Scott isn’t there—Stiles has never been happier that his best friend isn’t home. Derek follows him in, and Stiles shuts the door behind them and turns around to face Derek.

Derek steps in, close, closer, until he’s crowding Stiles against the door. He places his hands on the door, palms flat, and stares at Stiles until Stiles is thrumming with want and moves forward, placing his lips against Derek’s.

Derek leans in immediately, one hand now on Stiles’ jaw, the other cradling the back of his neck.

For a few seconds, it’s chaste, sweet, and then Stiles makes a soft noise, because _damn_ , this is good, this is really, _really_ good, and Derek presses in and their lips are parting and the two are kissing hard and breathing hard and are, well, _hard_ , and Stiles really needs Derek to take his clothes off _right_ _now_.

He breaks the kiss, spit clinging to his lips, and it should be gross, but Derek’s lips are wet and shiny and it’s obscenely hot. Stiles drops to his knees and goes to work on his pants and finally gets them down after fumbling with the button, and he might drool when he sees Derek’s cock straining against his black boxer briefs, and he can’t help but lean forward and lick Derek through the briefs, and the noise Derek makes could be from a porno, but it’s better, because it’s real and low and goes straight to Stiles’ dick.

Stiles gets the briefs down, and _damn_ , Derek is huge, and Stiles grabs the base of his dick with his right hand and licks his way to the tip, swirls his tongue around the tip, and then sucks. He goes slow, because he and his gag reflex have a love-hate relationship, and he goes down as far as he can and goes back up, repeating this before Derek groans, “Stiles, wait.”

Stiles lets Derek’s cock slip out of his mouth. “I really hope that’s not a, ‘Stiles, we’re making a mistake’ kind of ‘wait.’”

Derek pulls him up in response and kisses him hard. “Bedroom,” he growls, and Stiles nods in agreement.

They somehow make it to Stiles’ bed without breaking anything, and Stiles opens up the top drawer of his nightstand, takes out the lube and condoms, and then throws them at Derek before quickly stripping.

Derek holds up the lube, quirking an eyebrow at him. “You or me?” he asks, and Stiles gets even harder, if possible, because _what he would give to fuck Derek’s pretty little ass_ , but ever since day one, he’s wanted Derek to fuck him senseless.

Getting bent over a desk in a classroom? Pretty common fantasy, but still a good one, nonetheless.

Stiles clambers onto the bed. “Fuck me,” he says bluntly, and Derek growls and pushes him down and kisses him, and Stiles is getting kind of dizzy, because the kiss is hard and slow and he can feel Derek’s dick against his own and it’s amazing, it’s good, it’s so good.

Stiles spreads his legs and Derek gets in between them, and Stiles hears the cap of the lube bottle open with a click, and then Derek’s finger is pushing against his hole, just rubbing, circling around and around until Stiles is trying to push down. “Come on, come on.”

Derek pushes his finger in slowly and he breaks the kiss and moves to Stiles’ neck, biting and licking and sucking as he changes the pace and adds another finger and another finger. Stiles is pretty sure he has three hickeys on his neck when Derek moves his wrist a little and rubs _right there_ , and Stiles jerks as if he’s been electrocuted. Derek grins; he knows he’s found Stiles’ prostate and he rubs against it once, hard, twice, harder, punctuated by Stiles’ cries, before pulling out.

Stiles whines at the loss, and Derek silences him with a kiss. Stiles watches him put a condom on and then slick himself up, and then Derek is sliding into him with a loud moan. He inches his way in, and Stiles’ breath hitches, and it’s so full, _so full_ , and when Derek finally bottoms out after what feels like an eternity, he breathes out.

Derek leans down and brackets Stiles’ head in between his arms and kisses him sweetly.

“This is quite nice and all, but _move_ , you fucker,” he snarls.

Derek laughs against his lips. “As you wish.”

He drags out slowly and pushes back in just as slow, then repeats it again and again, and each stroke gets stronger but not _faster_ , and Stiles whimpers, because it’s _not enough_.

“More, dammit,” he demands, and then Derek’s hips _snap_ forward. “Shit!”

Derek smirks. “That’s what I thought.” He really starts going then, hard and fast, until Stiles is pretty much writhing under him, his dick pressed between them, precome slicking their bellies. Derek sits up and his hand finds Stiles’ dick and strokes once, twice, three times, and Stiles is gone, gone, and it’s like everything is set on fire for a second.

He closes his eyes and hears Derek groan, hips snapping forward again, until he falls forward onto Stiles and stays there.

Stiles laughs and shoves at his shoulder. “Get off, you’re heavy. And I hope you like cuddling, man, because I’m a huge fan.”

Derek chuckles, pulls out, then pulls the condom off and throws it into the trash can next to the bed. Stiles grabs tissues from the box on the nightstand and cleans the two off before pulling the down comforter up so he can slither underneath. Derek slides in after him and Stiles falls asleep pretty quickly, wrapped up in sweat and Derek and warmth.

When he wakes up the next morning, Derek is gone. There’s no note, no text, nothing.

He shouldn’t be so surprised.

\--

Stiles texts Derek that day and the next, but gets no response. He considers texting Laura, but—but it’d be weird, telling her that he slept with her brother. She’d get involved and, quite honestly, probably take Stiles’ side (he’s pretty sure she’s been rooting for them since the beginning), and he just doesn’t want any serious repercussions that might come from letting her know what’s going on.

But _damn_ if he isn’t pissed. And he is; he’s angry and hurt and confused, and he goes to his Tuesday class in a not-so-stellar state of mind.

Professor Daniel is there, lecturing on the latest book they’ve read, and Stiles doesn’t really pay attention to anything. He instead watches Derek the entire time.

Derek, who won’t even spare a glance towards him.

Oh, yeah, he’s pissed. He’s pissed as _hell_ , and he wants to know what the fuck is going on.

Lydia shoots him many questioning glances, but he ignores her. He’ll tell her later.

When the class is over, Stiles packs his stuff up and looks for Derek, but Derek’s long gone.

“Go to the dick’s apartment,” Lydia tells him, bumping him with her elbow. “And if you need back up, you know who to call.”

“Yeah, Scott,” Stiles jokes. “I’ll call you if I need an assassin.”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Just go.”

Stiles doesn’t even bother to go drop his stuff off first; he goes straight to Laura and Derek’s apartment. “Derek!” he yells, pounding on the door.

Derek swings the door open. “Stiles.”

Stiles stands there, staring at him, exhaling sharply through his nose.

He had a huge speech planned out, really, he did. It was angry, it demanded answers, it was loud and perfect, but whatever he had planned on saying has officially left his brain.

Derek leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Well?”

“Well?” Stiles splutters. “ _Well_? How about you’ve been acting like an ass for the past few days? How about you fucked me and then just left? Well? ‘Well’ yourself, you fucker!”

It’s not great, but it’ll do.

“Stiles.” Derek stands up straight and sighs. “I can’t… we can’t…”

“Don’t you fucking say it’s against the rules,” Stiles hisses, “because I’ve checked.”

Derek freezes. “I—I wasn’t going to.”

“Oh, sure,” he sneers. “Alright, let’s have it, then.”

Derek remains silent.

“Yeah, I thought so. Come on, _Derek_ ,” Stiles spits. “Don’t be a coward.”

“I am.”

“Yeah, that’s right, you are! You—wait, what?”

“I am a coward.”

“This… isn’t where I thought the conversation would go.” Stiles crosses his arms. He had been prepared for a _fight_.

Derek steps forward. “I get scared. When I get close to people.”

“That is a _stupid ass_ excuse, and you know it,” Stiles retorts.

“It’s true, though. Don’t tell me you don’t think it moved a little too fast.”

“A little fast? I pined after you for _months_ —”

Derek shakes his head. “But I wanted to do it right, to take you on dates and then go with things from there, not just sleep with you right out of the gate—”

“Why?” Stiles cries. “No relationship is perfect, Derek! What, do you think you’re _Kate_ , now? You gonna rip my heart out?” Derek flinches, and Stiles knows he’s hit a nerve. Derek’s told him plenty of things about what had happened, but he probably hadn’t expected for Stiles to catch on to what’s happening. “Derek,” he steps closer to the man, “you’re not Kate. You know that, right? Everything’s different. I’m not a little boy, and you mean well. Just because you’re older than me by a few years, just because we moved a little faster than you wanted… it doesn’t mean you’re going to ruin me.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, so Stiles just decides, _well, fuck this_ , and presses his lips to Derek’s. Derek responds immediately, arms wrapping around his waist, kissing him back with vigor.

Stiles pulls back a little so that their lips are _just_ touching. “Well?”

“When’d you look up the TA dating a student rule?” Derek murmurs back.

He hums. “The beginning of the school year.”

“Well, since you’ve been _pining_ ,” he jokes.

“Shut up, I bet you have, too.”

“Yeah,” Derek says, then kisses him hard, kisses him until Stiles needs air, until he gets lightheaded. “Yeah, I have.”

\------------------

“I hate this class,” Lydia complains into his ear.

Stiles sighs and shifts with her on the couch, gripping the remote in his right hand. “You chose the class.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I have to do this survey thing. Will you take it?”

“Well,” Stiles laughs, “seeing as how you’ll be pissed if I won’t, and I’d rather avoid facing your wrath… sure.”

“Alright.” Stiles can hear Lydia shuffling around, and she clears her throat. “Favorite TV channel?”

“USA.”

“Favorite movie genre?”

Stiles can hear Derek banging around in the kitchen and gets distracted for a split second. “Uh, comedy. Or action.” He glances at her. Her lips are pursed and she's jotting notes down on a sheet of paper.

“Marvel or DC?”

“Marvel. Are these questions related at all?”

She huffs and looks a split-second away from smacking him. “No, we just had to come up with some. Shut up and let me finish.”

“Fine, geez!”

“Age?”

“Twenty, duh.”

Ldyia glares at him. “Shut up. Favorite sport?”

Stiles hears a crash and a loud, “Shit!” and he laughs and asks, “Does spin class count?” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Again, art by [Kate](http://kavinskysdick.tumblr.com/), who is amazing and wonderful.
> 
> I have a writing [tumblr](http://drabbledreams.tumblr.com/) and a regular [tumblr](http://fadedhues.tumblr.com/), if you care to know.
> 
> ALSO, I was just rewatching the first episode, and HA, they actually read "Metamorphosis" in their Lit class! Oops. Oh well.
> 
> Also also, if you're curious to know, the title is from the Trebles final song in Pitch Perfect, because that movie is just amazing and Skylar Astin wow
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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